


Rumours

by yaakov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertha Jorkins, Ministry employee and gossip enthusiast, maintains a dysfunctional yet predictable relationship with Peter Pettigrew. She eventually finds herself on the edge of a dangerous secret that even she might never fully unearth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"The Daily Prophet and I didn't see eye to eye." The woman dropped her voice to a gravelly imitation of her former boss. "'You can't write that, Bertha, we can't print rumours -- did you 'fact-check,' Bertha? Did you make certain this is the most boring version of the story you can tell?'"

Her companion giggled and sipped his foamy pint.

Bertha sighed with relish. "And so, I went to work for the Ministry, where I have access to all sorts of juicy secrets. It's the best place to work, really. I started out in the Misuse of Magic Office, but they moved me to the Transportation department just last week. But if you must know, I have my eyes on the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Those folks have perks, let me tell you! Clive Corner got free tickets to the Wimbourne-Puddlemere game last week."

Here, the little fellow gasped, just as Bertha hoped he would. She'd never met someone so keen to hang onto her every word. Peter Pettigrew had a lovely way of making a lady feel interesting and important. He'd fawned over Potter and Black back in school, of course, so Bertha knew this special attention wasn't just for her. Still, she liked to pretend.

"I'm having a lovely time, dear," she told him. "We should get out together more often."

"Well," he said squeakily, noncommittal as always. "I rather like staying in with you. In fact, why don't we head back to my place now?" He'd glanced over his shoulder and concluded it was time to go. His movements were very small and quick, but Bertha noticed everything.

"The crowd's just arriving!" she insisted, waving to someone behind him. "I feel like being social tonight. And besides, your bed isn't going anywhere, is it?"

Peter winced as the pub grew louder, cringing at every curious eye he felt was observing them. "Well, I'll be turning in soon, I reckon. You're more than welcome to join me."

Bertha squashed her annoyance. "Fine. Your place it is, then."

When the two reconvened, there wasn't much talking, but even so, Peter was still so attentive and eager to please that Bertha was, once again, inclined to forgive him. She thought they went well together. Both were fat, neither was attractive, and their heights were quite complementary. Peter's head only came up to her chin, which put him face-level at her big breasts -- he was the perfect height, in other words. 

After their tango, Bertha sat wrapped in his blankets, watching with a satisfied smirk as Peter rooted around for their clothing. She always liked him best just after sex, when she could pretend that he was kind and caring. Perhaps that's what always led her to test her luck.

"It's only seven," she said out of the blue. "We should go back to the Leaky. Interesting things always happen on Saturday nights."

Peter pulled himself up by the edge of the bed, bringing with him the large brassiere he'd uncovered beneath it.

"I'm a bit tired, Bertha, truth be told."

Her smirk soured into a scowl. "No, you aren't. You're lying because you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Never!" Peter yelped. "How could you say such a thing?" He crawled up beside her and reached for her hands. "Bertha, darling, you know that I -- "

Bertha snatched her hands away, and Peter flinched as if she'd struck him.

"You're always running off with your friends, and you never invite me." She never wanted to begin a row, but once she got started, she couldn't stop. "You were out with the gang last night, in fact, but when I asked you yesterday afternoon, you said you were going into work."

Peter gaped. "I can't believe you're spying on me again!"

"And I can't believe you're still lying to me!" Bertha shot back. "You're ashamed of me. Just admit it."

"Why do I need to admit it if you already know?" Peter asked in a petulant whine.

"Oh, you're a terrible person, Peter Pettigrew." She threw off the blankets . "Good luck finding another witch who'll let you suck her tits."

"Bertha," he said weakly.

She turned around and began to dress, but not before catching Peter's eyes fixated, once again, on her exposed breasts.

"Bertha?"

"What," she snapped.

"We could go back to the Leaky Cauldron, if you want," he said in a small voice.

She threw an angry glance over her shoulder, and it took a second for Peter to tear his eyes away from her ample bottom.

"Why would I want to go anywhere with you?" she asked coldly, but her voice wavered.

"Because I'm sorry," Peter said in a rush. "I brush you off, and I'm being selfish and -- and inconsiderate. I've been inconsiderate," he repeated, as if pleased to have found the appropriate word.

Bertha turned back around. His small, watery eyes blinked up at her pitifully, and she might have felt sorry for him if he weren't such a bastard.

"Please?" Peter whimpered. "I'm sorry, Bertha -- truly sorry."

She took a step closer, and as usual, his eyes went straight to her girdled breasts.

"Don't beg, Peter. You're a grown man."

"I thought you liked it when I beg," he frowned.

"For certain things," she admitted testily.

"So...." Peter said, sucking on his bottom lip. "If I take you back to the pub later, will you take off your bra again?"

"If you ask me nicely," she said, hating him a little and trying not to hate herself.

"Please?" Peter said again, this time holding back a grin.

True to his word (for once), Peter took her out that evening, and after his cover was officially blown, he took her out every weekend. That first Saturday was a charmed evening. None of his mates were around, so Peter and Bertha chatted with strangers and acquaintances. They were a sparkling duo, amusing and delighting the crowds with all the gossip and stories in their arsenal. Peter recounted a ridiculous tale wherein one of his mates almost tricked a Slytherin into getting eaten by werewolf ("the bastard escaped, but the werewolf got most of his trousers"). As Bertha watched him bask in the crowd's laugher, she thought she might be in love.

That was the very last time she thought such a thing, for every weekend after became increasingly miserable. Peter seemed different around his friends, and Bertha hated it. He was capable of being witty, but Peter allowed his friends to dominate the conversation, offering only stupid giggles and grating interjections.

"Hey, James, tell us about the time you and Sirius...."

Bertha stopped listening. She was, admittedly, embarrassed to be with him. 

To make matters worse, she was often stuck talking with Lily Potter and Remus Lupin. Lily and Lupin were intolerable. Both were so mature and condescendingly nice that Bertha felt desperate to make their lives miserable. Lupin looked so sickly and shabby that it would be all too easy to speculate on what sort of horrible thing could be wrong with him -- drug addiction, infectious disease, dabbling in the dark arts -- but Lily, on the other hand, was disgustingly perfect. To ruin them both efficiently, Bertha decided to look for evidence that they might be having an affair.

She never got the chance to develop her research, however, because within a couple of months, her and Peter's relationship had unraveled. They could never completely quit each other, so they continued to meet now and again, always at evening, and never taking much.

Even without much conversation, Bertha knew something was going wrong with Peter. He started meeting her less frequently, and when he did, he always seemed nervous -- frightened, Bertha thought. His eyes were often bloodshot and twitchy, and he was starting to lose his hair. He'd stopped laughing, and he seemed to be losing sleep.

Bertha tried to press him, but he always reacted badly.

"It's too dangerous," he insisted, again and again, but Bertha wasn't stupid. She knew James Potter was working for Albus Dumbledore, and she also knew that Peter would follow James Potter through the gates of hell.

"Are they making you kill Death Eaters?" she would ask him, wishing she felt more worried and less excited.

Peter would only shake his head beg her not to ask.

Then, there was the bandage on his arm -- a potions accident at work, he said, in a shaking voice -- that he refused to remove and didn't want to talk about. Naturally, Bertha couldn't help herself, so Peter grew shrilly angry and threw her out. She had never seen him get so angry, and after that, she didn't see him for two entire months.

She tried to follow him, of course, but it proved impossible. She even tried to peek around the Potters' cottage, but although Bertha was certain she knew the location, she couldn't find the cottage for the life of her. Her efforts were so fruitless that she was almost ready to give up when, late one Saturday evening, Peter Pettigrew appeared on her doorstep.

He looked worse than ever, but the fragile look in his greyish eyes made her take him into her bed at once. He was reluctant to remove his shirt, and when he did, it revealed another peculiar bandage wrapped around his forearm. Bertha ignored it. It had been far too long, and the last thing she wanted was to drive him away. She would ask him later, when they were both in a better mood.

They didn't get very far. Ten minutes later, Peter sat hunched on the edge of her bed, crying like a child.

"I can't do it!" he wailed.

Bertha rubbed his shoulders. "It's all right, dear. Out of all the times we've been together, this is the first and only time you haven't been -- "

"Oh, it isn't _that_ ," he said stuffily.

"Then what?"

"I can't tell you!" he shouted angrily, but his voice faltered. "For the last time, I can't tell you, Bertha. They could kill me, and they _will_ kill me if I don't do what they want."

Bertha cautiously drew back her hand. "I don't what know what you've got yourself into, Peter, but I'm sure it's something to do with James Potter, and Dumbledore, and that personal army of his."

Peter just sobbed into his hands, so she continued.

"And I don't know who's trying to kill you, but if it's true, then you've _got_ to stop crying and do whatever it is you have to do."

He lifted his face and turned, giving her a mournful look. "I'm such a coward, Bertha."

She tutted. "I know you are, dear. You're the worst coward I've ever met. Come here."

Peter fell into her arms, still sniffling, and buried his face into her chest. In that position, it wasn't very long before his mood improved. Bertha smiled through his sloppy kisses, glad to have her little fellow back.

She never saw him again, however, because two days later, Peter Pettigrew was dead.


	2. Epilogue

People don't like to believe the truth. Rumour is more interesting than reality, and when a story is unbelievable enough, the masses will swallow it whole.

The story of little Peter Pettigrew bravely but stupidly hunting down Sirius Black was so unlikely that everyone believed it immediately.

"Just look at Black's family," people whispered. "Nothing but dark wizards. Poor little Peter Pettigrew never stood a chance."

Poor little Peter, indeed, Bertha thought. It was more likely that Sirius had tracked _Peter_ down for doing whatever he did. People also spoke of the Potters, claiming that the attack on their home had led to the death of You-Know-Who. Is that what Peter had to do -- turn in his friends to vanquish the most fearsome dark wizard of their time? No, even that was too noble. What had her little Peter really done?

Bertha wondered. The official story didn't make sense to her, and she vowed to get to the bottom of it, but she never got the chance. Peter was awarded the Order of Merlin -- first class, mind you -- and suddenly Bertha found herself embellishing.

"I knew Peter very well," she'd tell whoever would listen. "He and I were _very_ close. I knew he was fighting for Dumbledore, and I used to get so worried, but Peter never flinched. He was very brave, yes, but he was quiet about it. You'd never think he had it in him to take on a Death Eater -- much less Sirius Black! -- but he was a tough little thing, really...."


End file.
